


Starved

by FebobeFic_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebobeFic_Archivist/pseuds/FebobeFic_Archivist
Summary: Rating for mild thematic darkness only; no sex, slash, or profanity. Probably bookverse apart from Frodo's appearance, but you could go either way on the interpretation. Additionally, this series is heavy on the food imagery - I *am* writing about a hobbit, after all, and a hobbit with a food obsession at that, so please bear with me! Seriously, this is a foodie h/c Frodo fic, so if you don't like those, DON'T CLICK. Just STOP NOW. Otherwise, you will NOT enjoy yourself. Trust me!
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The foods cited in this fic are drawn from a wide variety of sources, including an online BBC website for the English foods of the Shirefolk (I'd give you the URL, but it doesn't seem to be functioning fully these days, so I don't know how much good that would do!) and from 1,000 Italian Recipes by Michele Scicolone for the "Italian" recipes of Minas Tirith and Gondor (Minas Tirith sits at about the latitude of Florence, according to JRRT in the Letters, which inspired some of us in discussion to give Gondor a somewhat "Italian" flavor). Eowyn's recipes come from One Potato, Two Potato, from 500 Soups, and from general personal experience (in short, I could find you a recipe for it, but I didn't look at a specific book this time to find it). In addition, some of my ideas about the effects of starvation/food deprivation on the human psyche and the body come from the Ancel Keys experiment, summarized nicely at .?title=EffectsOfSemiStarvation (just in case you're interested in my source material).

Frodo would never forget his first glimpse of Minas Tirith. Level upon level it stretched, far below to the ground, until Frodo grew dizzy with looking and put his face to Aragorn's shoulder. How could Men endure so much walking up different levels? Didn't it make their feet sore? At least in the Shire one was on ground, not on stone as everything was here. . .but Minas Tirith seemed to be nothing but a city of massive white stone. He shivered.

"Shall we go back inside now, little one?"

Frodo nodded eagerly. He hoped his tray would arrive soon; he was hungry, and Aragorn had promised something to eat. They were alone now, the rest of the company having departed to allow Frodo rest, and he could not say that he was entirely sorry, for he had so many questions!

"Aragorn?"

"Yes?"

"What are they like - the Men of Minas Tirith?"

Aragorn came to sit beside him, his tone warm and compassionate. "They are much as you have experienced, Frodo, in Faramir and Boromir - noble and brave, but like all of us in their fallibility. But there is yet some of the grace of Numenor about them, and that perhaps you will sense, particularly among the noblest and most loyal of those who have survived this long war." He smiled. "The Steward is giving a feast soon in your honour, as soon as you are up and able to eat well enough to enjoy it, which should be very soon. I think you will fare well when we begin to get you properly fed."

"A feast?" Frodo eyed Aragorn curiously. "What are their feasts like? I know only of their ordinary meals, from dining with Faramir and his men."

Aragorn laughed. "Well, why do you not speak more to me of hobbit dining, and let me explain what is different? I fear that I know little of hobbit meal practises, apart from your habit of eating six times a day or more and your penchant for mushrooms."

Frodo flushed. The latter had come out during a story about his own past, and he was not eager to touch upon it again. "Well, my Aunt Dora wrote positively reams on good manners at table. How the first Conversation should always be about the Food Before One, after which the conversation may gradually turn to Food in General, and from there, as the meal nears its End and one has progressed to Filling Up the Corners, to more general conversation, provided One keeps to Topics of a Congenial Nature. All sorts of things like that."*

Aragorn nodded. "In that, the Men of Minas Tirith are not so different. It is considered polite to keep to congenial topics at table, though not necessarily to food." He hesitated. "I believe, from some of the descriptions you and your cousins have given me, that it is not uncommon among hobbits to have meals with seconds and thirds. This is not usual at such feasts as we will attend, but I think you will find the number of courses served - while served one or two at a time, and not all at once - quite satisfying."

"Oh?" Frodo paused as there came a knock at the door and Aragorn rose, going to the door and returning with a covered tray which, once uncovered, revealed small servings of food: dry toast, stewed apple, and hot tea with honey. Gently Aragorn offered him a spoonful of stewed apple.

"We must be careful what you eat at first; you have been with little food for such a long time that you require careful refeeding. Soon you may have some soup and mashed potato and even a bit of plain roast chicken, if you tolerate this well. But first things first."

Frodo swallowed gratefully, blinking back tears. The taste was delicious. At once he opened his mouth for more of the warm, soothing nourishment. This Aragorn offered, even as he continued to speak.

"There will be many courses - first, the antipasti, or appetizer - which will consist this time of marinated mushrooms and marinated olives. The second course is a pasta - it is a dough cut into shapes and cooked, somewhat thin; it may have a filling or a sauce. The pasta we will have is pappardelle with mushroom marsala sauce - that is a mushroom and wine sauce. I think you will especially like that. Next we have a meat course: that will be roasted chicken with rosemary, lemon and garlic. The vegetable is a roasted mushroom medley. Following those we have a salad - a mushroom salad, in this case; next, chilled fresh fruit. After that, we have dessert: something called strawberry tirithmist, which is like nothing you have ever eaten. It is absolutely light and delicious and refreshing, and you will love it, I believe. And of course there will be plenty of wine. I believe Faramir has also arranged for a bread called rosemary focaccia to be served."

Frodo's eyes widened. "It sounds so strange. . .but delicious! Anything with mushrooms must be wonderful."

"Faramir spoke with Pippin and Merry about what might best please you. They told him of your fondness for mushrooms." Aragorn smiled. "Would you like a bath after you have eaten?"

Frodo nodded. "Please. I have not had a good wash in so long - "

"You were bathed well when you were brought in, but there is nothing quite like sitting in a tub filled with warm water." The king offered a bit of toast. "I understand that you will feel better when you have had a real bath."

"Yes." Frodo yawned, and a sudden guilty thought struck him. "Has Sam had plenty to eat?"

"He has. I have had more food sent to his room." Aragorn held another spoonful of stewed apple to Frodo's lips, watching as it was nipped up gratefully. "He is tolerating it well. Of course, he is hungry, as are you, but that we can remedy, I think."

"Mmm." Frodo nodded through a mouthful of apple. "I feel better already." He fell quiet for a moment. "Aragorn - do you think the men of Minas Tirith will react very strangely to us? I mean - everyone will be expecting a great hero."

"I see one." Aragorn's grey eyes softened. "I think they will understand, though some may stand in wonder."

"Aragorn?"

"Yes, little one?"

Frodo yawned. "Are the Men of Minas Tirith more like Faramir - or Boromir?"

Aragorn hesitated for a long moment, offering a bite of toast and sip of tea in the interim. At last he met Frodo's gaze thoughtfully. "It depends very much upon the man. There are some like each."

"Oh." Frodo blinked wearily, but continued to eat until every bite and drop was consumed. "I don't suppose I could have that bath and something more to eat when I wake?"

"Of course, little one. Of course." Easing the pillows from behind his shoulders so that only one remained, allowing Frodo to lie down comfortably with his head and shoulders only slightly raised, Aragorn smoothed the covers and tucked his charge in warmly. "Rest now, and pleasant dreams to you. One of your companions, whether myself or another, shall remain with you while you sleep."

Somehow the knowledge gave Frodo peace, and he found himself drowsing at once. And this time his dreams were not dreams of fire, or of the Eye, but of plain Shire food - sausages and apples, freshly baked white bread, poached eggs, bramble bread and butter pudding, roast chicken, mashed potato, double ginger cake, apple pie. . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Frodo sat quietly. In his own chair, Sam tugged uneasily at his finery, looking for all the world as if he would rather disappear.

Frodo felt likewise.

They had been seated upon the dais, on either side of Aragorn, Frodo on his right and Sam upon his left. The separation itself felt strange after so many months of constant togetherness - Frodo was only just reconciling with the sense of sleeping in a room by himself again. Even so, he did not care for it. It felt unsafe. Alone. Vulnerable.

A dish of marinated mushrooms and marinated olives was set before him, however, and abruptly Frodo forgot his dark musings. The savory treats looked so appealing that he could hardly wait to try a bite, though he managed to remember Aunt Dora's instructions to watch the head of one's table and follow his lead before digging into one's food. He was grateful that the table was quickly served and Aragorn did not wait for the entire room before beginning to eat.

Within minutes, though, his water-glass was nearly empty. Guiltily he began to look about for a pitcher, but almost the instant he turned his head, an attendant was there, filling his glass.

"Thank you." Blushing, Frodo took an appreciative sip.

So good.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.

But soon enough he had cleaned his plate, though admittedly he seemed to be last at the table to finish, and they were bringing out something new: something that looked almost like a pile of ribbons in sauce, with - could it be? - yes, mushrooms! Aragorn leaned closer, speaking in low tones.

"This is called pappardelle with mushroom wine sauce. I think you will like it. The trick is to cut the pappardelle up so you will not end up with one long bite dangling from your fork."

Frodo smiled. "If you say it is so! Such food is strange to me. But it does smell good."

"Good." Aragorn left him to the intricacies of consuming the dish. It was fortunate, Frodo mused wryly, that he had had time for his finger-stump to heal, and time to practise using knife and fork in such condition; else he would have been hard-pressed to manage on his own, and it would be humiliating to require assistance before so many men and women, all the great folk of Gondor. He bit into the doughy strips with relish, using each bite to clean sauce from the plate, spearing mushrooms on the tines of his fork.

Then came roasted chicken with rosemary, lemon, and garlic, and Frodo began to feel slightly awkward in the matter of dealing with food. Cutting up chicken proved challenging, and more than once he could see Sam eyeing him with a pained expression of sympathy from Aragorn's opposite side. Aragorn, too, glanced in his direction, and looked very much as if he would move to help on more than one occasion, but a look from Frodo stopped him where he sat.

Frodo took another bite. The taste brought tears to his eyes, and he blinked them quickly back: rosemary, memories of his mother's kitchen. Lemon was a new taste to him, but so fresh and cleansing that he loved it at once. Garlic was always nice to spice anything up, and the combination was a pleasant enough one.

The next course was a roasted mushroom medley, and Frodo felt that this dish must have been created especially for him, so much to his liking did it seem. The blend of herbs and mushrooms melted exquisitely on his tongue. He felt he could eat a mountain of such mushrooms and never be full. . .why? he wondered, remembering the pleasantly full feelings after meals in the kitchen at Bag End or even Rivendell. It was hardly as if Aragorn had starved him since his awakening. True enough, they had begun with light foods, but Aragorn had advanced his diet as promised, and he had had enough to eat.

Hadn't he?

Some sort of herbed bread was placed before him, along with a dish of oil.

"You may dip the bread into the oil," explained Aragorn quietly. "It is delicious that way."

Frodo broke a piece and tentatively dipped it into the oil before tasting it. It was utterly delicious, and he finished his piece, even the extra pieces Aragorn gently nudged in his direction, lingering over each morsel.

"More wine, my lord?"

Frodo blushed, but nodded. The wine was good, though it was the water he craved most. "A bit more water, too, if you please."

"A wise choice, Frodo." Aragorn smiled. "After so long without adequate water, your body needs to replenish itself. We have been trying to help it along by giving you plenty to drink, but it will take time, and drinking plenty of cool, clean water is the best cure of all."

Frodo could only nod as an attendant set a mushroom salad before him. Again he watched Aragorn for his cue, then began to eat. He knew he should feel full, but. . .not yet. Still he did not feel full inside.

The next course, though, was a pleasant change: as much as he loved mushrooms, Frodo loved fresh fruit, and Minas Tirith had some of the best, war notwithstanding. Berries in the outer country and in the gardens of the Citadel had survived, yielding a fruit medley the like of which he had never seen - strawberries, fresh and sweet; blueberries, deliciously tart; and some strange pink berry he had never seen before. A "roseberry," Aragorn called it. Frodo thought it tasted rather like sweet grapes, only better.

But rather sooner than he would have liked, though again last of all the table, he was scraping the crystal goblet clean, and an attendant reached to replace it with something absolutely beautiful - a layered dessert Frodo had never seen before.

"Aragorn," he whispered, "what is this? I know you told me about it, but I have forgotten."

"Strawberry tirithmist," came the reply. "It is a Gondorian specialty. They make a plain tirithmist as well, but we thought the strawberry might please you on this occasion."

Frodo took a small mouthful.

And another.

And another.

He could not stop until the dish was clean, and had he been alone in his kitchen at Bag End he migiht well have licked the plate. But, being in company, he merely set his fork aside and finished his water, sipping comfortably.

He was full.

But the feeling lay uneasily in the pit of his stomach, as if something slept fitfully, waiting only to be stirred to life once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Hungry.

Frodo shifted uneasily in bed, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably. He felt hungry again, though it could not have been more than an hour since he left the feast. Turning over, he tried to ignore the sensation, but it was no use. He was too hungry to sleep, and he could think of nothing but food - namely, of finding some. What would anyone say, if they knew?

He couldn't think about that now. He had to find something to eat, whether they liked it or not.

Cautiously he slipped out of his room on silent hobbit feet, wincing slightly - they were still sore, and he shuddered to think how Sam's must feel, when at least he had been carried for the last leg of the torturous journey.

Sam.

If he felt hungry, surely Sam must too. Frodo made a mental note to slip a snack into his pockets for Sam as well and deliver it to his room on the way back. Yes, he would like that.

"Master Frodo!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. The voice was that of Ioreth, the healer-woman assigned to tensely before turning, schooling his voice to calm.

"Yes, Mistress?"

She stooped to his eye level, looking for all the world as if she would prefer to sweep him up in her arms and gather him back to bed. "What in the world are you doing up, Master Frodo? 'Tis late, and you must be tired! Is there aught I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. 'Tis only a trivial matter; I - I - "

"Are you hungry?"

Relief swept over him, and he nodded. Ioreth looked utterly delighted with herself.

"The King said that; he said you might get hungry. He gave me special instructions. 'Ioreth,' he said to me, 'at no time during the day or night are either of the Ringbearers to go without food if they wish for it. This is in addition to their daily meals and the snacks I have ordered for them. Do you understand?' 'Yes,' I said, 'I understand perfectly.' And so I do." She paused for breath. "Is there anything else you require, little master?"

"Please - Sam. He will be hungry too, I think, though he will be too shy to speak of it. If you could take something to him as well - "

"Never fear, Master Frodo. It shall be done." She patted his shoulder gently. "Why don't you return to your room and rest while I prepare your snack? I shall return swiftly with it."

Reluctantly Frodo yielded, returning to his room in silent slow pace. It seemed an eternity that he sat in the oversized chair by the bed, waiting for Ioreth. At last he climbed back onto his bed; the chair was not cushioned, and it hurt him to sit too long without some sort of padding between his thin body and the chair.

At last he heard footsteps in the hall, and his door opened. But it was not Ioreth who entered.

Frodo blinked.

Faramir.

"Good evening, Frodo." The man brought a small tray to Frodo's bed, setting it down gently, presenting the contents for approval. "I hope you will not mind a change in company? Ioreth was in quite a flurry, and I assured her than I was quite capable of ensuring that you received your nourishment while she took something to Sam."

"Thank you." Blushing furiously, Frodo looked down. So much trouble to so many great folk. . . . But the strange bars on the tray and the cup of milk looked so appealing that he could not help picking up a bar and investigating it.

"These are called biscotti. They are a kind of what you call biscuit in your land, I believe. This sort is gingerbread-flavored."

Gingerbread? Eagerly Frodo nibbled the tip of a stick. Faramir was correct: the delicious taste of spices warmed his mouth.

"Thank you so much."

"You are most welcome." Faramir smiled, settling himself in the large chair by the bed. "Frodo. . .there is something I wished to speak with you about, if you are willing. Would you permit me a question or two while you are eating?"

Frodo nodded, taking a sip of milk. "Yes, of course."

Faramir leaned forward, folding his hands. His grey eyes were sombre. "Frodo. . .are you happy?"

Taken aback, Frodo paused with a stick of biscotti halfway to his mouth. "I. . .I *should* be."

"But *are* you?"

"I don't know." Frodo swallowed anxiously. "I. . .in truth, I feel so alone. It does not feel natural to be alone so often after so many months with Sam close by, and before that, the others too."

Faramir nodded knowingly. "Is there anything else?"

"I. . ." Frodo hesitated. "I cannot understand why I am so hungry."

"Sometimes, Frodo, this is common in men who have been starved." Faramir sighed softly. "I have seen it in my own men who were taken prisoner and later reclaimed in battle. . .we recovered them and gave them food, but we could not assuage that feeling."

Frodo shuddered. "Is there then no hope for us?"

"Of course there is." A soft smile tugged at the corners of Faramir's lips. "Already I see improvement in Sam. I am no healer, but he seems much better to me. As for you. . ."

He paused, as if considering his words carefully.

"Some of my men found great comfort in poring over menus from our city's eating-houses, and of course receipt-books. Would you like to have some brought for you?"

Frodo's eyes widened. "Are you certain it would not be too much trouble?"

"None at all." Faramir's smile warmed. "And - should you prefer to sleep in the same room as Sam tonight, I believe we have a room large enough to accommodate you both."

Frodo beamed and took a sip of milk.

Perhaps tonight he would sleep without dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

Frodo sat curled comfortably in the oversized chair that Ioreth had stuffed with cushions for him, surrounded by pages and volumes - treats from Faramir, delivered just before luncheon. There were beautiful receipt-books, and menus from many of the finest eateries in Minas Tirith as well as Aragorn's particular favorites, haunts he had frequented in his soldiering days. The offerings ranged from the simplest of fare, plain meat and potatoes and beer, to such finery as chicken with lemon and white wine, bluefish with lemon and mint, batter-fried shrimp, peaches in red wine, and chocolate foam with raspberries. It all sounded delicious, and Frodo made notes in the small note-book Faramir had given him as to where he might like to go when he felt well enough to venture out under escort.

An idea began to form in his head, and he looked up.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" Across the room Sam looked up at once from the receipt-book he was browsing - a book entitled Cookery for the Convalescent.

"What if. . ." Frodo grinned. "What if. . .we were to make our *own* receipt-book? Of recipes from the Shire and Buckland? We could leave it with Faramir, to stay in Minas Tirith, as a record. . .sort of a memory of hobbits, if you like."

Sam broke into a broad smile. "Why, if that wouldn't be just the thing, sir! A splendid idea!"

"And I want us to have plain cooking, too, not just the special occasion food. Big Folk don't seem to know very much about plain hobbit cooking, do they?"

"Begging pardon, sir, but. . ." Sam lowered his voice, glancing furtively toward the closed door. "They don't, do they?"

Frodo shook his head. "Now, let's see. . . . We *must* have a recipe for oat porridge; everyone grows up on that for breakfast along with hot buttered toast. And I couldn't leave out Aunt Eglantine's peach on sugared toast; Pip would never forgive me."

"What about them apples in custard you like so much, sir? Would those do?"

Frodo nodded. "Those would do nicely. And apple and raspberry dumplings, too, and sticky toffee pudding. . .teacakes, I haven't seen a teacake since we woke. . . ."

"And sausages and mash; I was telling Faramir about them and he says they don't make those here."

"And Bilbo's chicken soup."

"Mam's vegetable soup."

"My mother's gingerbread receipt."

"Them jam tarts Mr. Pippin always eats you out of when he comes to visit."

Frodo felt his heart lighten as he scribbled one note after another.

It would be all right.

Surely this would make everything all right.


	5. Chapter 5

"Frodo?"

Frodo looked up from his plateful of toast and eggs to find Aragorn at his door. So much for an uninterrupted breakfast. Sam, having already finished, had gone out to the gardens with Ioreth, leaving Frodo the "thinking time" he particularly preferred in the mornings.

Despite his reticence for company, Frodo nodded. "Yes?"

The king came in, closing the door softly behind him, and settled in a chair at Frodo's bedside.

"Frodo, are you happy here?"

The question took Frodo aback, and he paused for a sip of juice before responding. "Well, yes and no. Everyone is kind to me - but - Sam and I are not among our companions, and it is a little lonely thus, and - " He hesitated a moment. "And we cannot cook. Which is, as Sam would say, 'most unnatural' for a hobbit. I was ever considered odd, but I am doubly unnatural now, for I have no kitchen in which I can cook a little something."

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. "And what would you do if I allowed you and Sam to go and live with your companions? Would you continue to eat well for me, and take plenty of rest?"

To go and live with the others? Eagerly Frodo nodded. "I would. I promise. Have I not obeyed thus far?"

Chuckling, Aragorn nodded. "I must confess that I have yet to see a tray return as untouched as they did in Rivendell, or hear of you sitting up talking when you should be sleeping. Very well, then! I shall give Sam and the others careful instructions, but I shall give them to you as well, so you will know whether or not you are following them, mm?"

Frodo nodded dutifully, biting into another slice of toast spread with fresh butter and orange marmalade as he listened.

"Faramir will make certain that you are supplied with powdered milk at all times. Each time you bake muffins, or make griddlecakes, or anything of that sort, I want you to add two tablespoons of the powdered milk to what you are making. That will be as medicine for you and for Sam. You still have weight to gain back, and the extra milk will help. In addition, I want you to eat plenty of snacks. Make certain you do not skimp in eating meat, for that will help build back your strength. Take advantage of not only your kitchen, but the eateries of this city; the specialties it offers are very good for putting on weight." He chuckles. "If you were to eat more of the pasta and tirithmist on a regular basis, I believe you would find your waistline widening more quickly than you might imagine."

For a moment he hesitated, and then he continued.

"And be understanding of Pippin when he watches what you eat and drink. I have charged him to be my eyes and ears in this matter, for I cannot watch over you personally at all times now, and he will have far more opportunity than I. Of Merry I have asked the same, and I am working with Eomer to ensure that they do not share the same days on guard-duty, so that one or the other may always be with you. I know that Sam will always gladly report to me, but your cousins are anxious to help you in any way they can, and Sam already feels useful to you. It is time for him to let others help care for you."

Frodo nodded dutifully. "I will feel better once I am there. It is home, of some sort."

"It is indeed." Aragorn bent and kissed his brow. "Little one, I know that you long for the day you will see Bilbo again. But have patience! That day will come. Until then, take pleasure in food and friendship, and allow us to comfort you as we may." He rose, smiling. "And prepare to help Ioreth pack your things after you have had second breakfast. But do not rush! I want time to make proper preparations to ensure your safety and comfort."

"Very well." Frodo took another mouthful of toast, washing it down with a sip of the sweet-tart orange juice provided for him, before turning his attention to the strange fruit on his tray - "pink grape-fruit," Ioreth had called it, providing a special little spoon designed for digging out each delicious segment. "I am ready for a change. . .the Houses of Healing have been kind, but. . .they are not a home."

"No." Aragorn's voice was gentle. "And I should have remembered that sooner. Forgive me, Frodo! I should have neglected you and Sam least of all. But now all shall be set to rights."


	6. Chapter 6

"Will it do?"

"It's perfect." Frodo looked about eagerly, delighted by the pair of fluffy feather-beds - the perfect size for hobbits, each piled with down pillows and soft, colourful quilts. On a table beside each bed stood a large bowl filled with fresh fruit - oranges, grapes, cherries, apples, and pears - and biscotti, as well as a water-pitcher and cup. "Faramir, I could not like it better had I arranged it all myself."

"We knew you and Sam would wish to be together. Merry and Pippin share a room as well, though I believe they spend a fair bit of time cleaning up after pillow-fights!" With a grin, the man set Frodo's few belongings in order. "Would you like to join Sam in the kitchen?"

The kitchen?

Frodo's heart skipped a few beats.

"Yes. . .yes, please. . .I should love that."

Already the smell of something delicious wafted from the direction whence they walked, and Frodo sniffed the air appreciatively - sausages! And apples! Sure enough, when they entered the kitchen, Merry stood on a low step-ladder, attending to sizzling pork sausages and frying apple slices atop the stove. Pippin was setting the small kitchen table, which was clearly too small to seat the house's occupants en masse, but - for four hobbits, and perhaps a companion or two, it was perfect.

Awed, Frodo looked around. Everything was large, but step-ladders and the like had been strategically placed to render everything accessible to hobbits. And the pans were a bit smaller - had they been specially made? He could not say, but they seemed the perfect size for hobbit hands.

"There you are, then, Frodo! Come and sit, now, and tell us what you can drink!" chirped Pippin brightly. "Shall it be water, or beer? Merry will have those sausages ready soon, so I'd best get your drinks ready - you, too, Sam!"

Sam started to protest, but Pippin shushed him with a word, finally coaxing an interest in beer out of both hobbits and bouncing off to fill two mugs.

"Merry," Frodo managed at last, "you shouldn't have gone to such trouble."

"Stuff and nonsense. You need to eat, and who wants to go out on your first day home? We knew you'd be tired, most likely, and might want a bit of a rest. And this was quick enough to make." Merry smiled warmly, beginning to dish up platefuls of food as Faramir helpfully passed him each plate, allowing him to serve right from the skillet. "I even made enough for the good Steward here. The others won't be home for lunch; they're out busy erranding, but *we're* here, so I thought we might as well enjoy ourselves."

Pippin returned, bearing two mugs of beer, and placed them before Frodo and Sam. "Captain Faramir?"

"Beer will do for me as well, thank you, Pippin."

Again Pippin hopped off to the cellar with a clutch of mugs, returning with enough for the rest of them this time. "All right, then! Now we can *eat*!"

"Indeed we can." Merry took his seat at the table between Frodo and Pippin, with Pippin next to Faramir, Faramir next to Sam, and Sam beside Frodo. He studied his cousin for a long moment before suddenly reaching for one hand and clasping it close.

"I thought we might never see you again," he murmured. "I thought I might never cook another meal for all of us. I thought we might never - "

Frodo swallowed. "More than once I thought the same," he said hoarsely. "But here we are. And *I* intend to cook for *you* soon enough, for a change! Will you help me?"

"Anything." Merry nodded earnestly. "Anything you like."

And with that, they turned their attention to the sausages and apples, drinking great draughts of beer and speaking of happier times than those days of late.


	7. Chapter 7

"Blast!"

Sam looked up from a bowl of eggs he was beating up. "What's the matter, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo sighed irritably. "It's my handwriting. I should have known it wasn't good enough for something like this yet. But I truly thought it would be all right. . . ."

"There now, sir. You just rest a bit. Come help me with the bacon if you like!"

Rising eagerly, Frodo washed his hands, then came to the stove and climbed up the other step-ladder, beginning to lay fresh rashers of bacon in the pan, which was already hot and ready for them. Meanwhile, Sam poured the eggs into his pan and began to scramble them. For a few minutes the kitchen was filled with contented silence, save for the peaceful sounds of food sizzling and bubbling merrily in the skillets.

"What do you think we should make for elevenses? And luncheon?"

Sam sucked his teeth, turning the eggs here and there. "Elevenses is already taken care of, sir. I baked up some muffins this morning when I woke up early, and there's plenty, and there's fruit, so - if muffins and fruit will still do - that way we won't have to interrupt our work too much."

"They'll do nicely, thank you. For luncheon, I was thinking sausages again, with mash and onion gravy this time. I fancy something with a bit of bite to it."

"Why, master, if that don't sound like just the thing!" Sam beamed, beginning to shovel eggs onto plates. "That's a grand idea, and no mistake. Do we have what we need, or shall I look?"

"We have everything, I think. I asked Merry about it this morning." Frodo glanced around. "Just us for second breakfast?"

Sam nodded. "Mr. Pippin has guard duties today; Mr. Merry's gone to see Lord Eomer, Gandalf is with Stri - I mean Aragorn, and Legolas and Gimli went to market for a few things. I wanted to go, but they didn't think either of us were strong enough for an outing to market yet, so I told 'em what to look for, clear as day, and no mistakes. I think an elf ought to be able to find a proper basket o'strawberries at the market this time o'year."

Sliding the bacon onto a platter, Frodo laughed, nodding. "Indeed!"

They took their seats at the table, passing the bacon dish back and forth between them, as well as a dish of baked mushrooms that Sam had prepared. It was eminently pleasant, and Frodo found his frustrations easing with the comfort of a good meal.

So long did they linger over their plates, in fact, that they were still eating when Legolas and Gimli returned, bearing a load of produce and goods from the market. At once Sam rose to inspect it, leaving Frodo to clean his own plate and ponder.

"I did find beautiful strawberries, and here they are," he heard Legolas saying, "and enough mushrooms to feed a small army."

"Good, good. Now, tomorrow I'll be sending you out after carrots and the like," warned Sam. "I want to make a nice big pot of vegetable soup. Do us all good. Mr. Frodo especially."

Frodo tried not to blush.

Legolas, relieved of his burden, came and sat beside Frodo at the table, leaving Gimli to help Sam put away the groceries. "And you, Frodo?" he enquired gently. "What do you wish to cook? For I understand that your heart's desire lies there as well."

Frodo hesitated, considering. "Please - mushroom soup; my mother had a wonderful receipt for it. And - Bilbo's seed-cake. And have you ever had blackcurrant and mint crumble?"

Legolas shook his head, smiling.

"It always makes me feel better." Frodo mustered a smile as well. "I think you would like it."

"I am sure that I would." Legolas rose, brushing his shoulder gently. "Whatever you require, you have only to ask, and I will find it for you, if it is to be had."

And with that, he and Gimli slipped away, leaving Frodo and Sam at peace in the kitchen once more.


	8. Chapter 8

That afternoon, Frodo sat poring over notes while his seed-cakes baked and Sam worked on a beef and mushroom stew for supper. As usual, he worked in the kitchen; it seemed - easier, somehow, and there was always something at hand to nibble on or to sip if one wanted. And the table made a comfortable work-desk. But he simply felt more *at home* in a kitchen these days, for reasons he could not put into words even to himself.

Sam had gone off to answer the door, leaving Frodo to watch over the food, so he snuck a taste of mushroom out of the stew now that no one was looking. Not that Sam would have minded, of course. Checking his seed-cakes, he pulled them from the oven and set them to cool, for they looked perfect, delicious and golden and done to a T.

"Mr. Frodo, look who's here!"

Frodo looked up with a start to find Faramir following Sam into the kitchen. On his back was a pack filled with - something, so heavy did it look. Curiously Frodo met them at the table, where Faramir proudly set down his pack.

"Good afternoon, Frodo. I hope you are feeling well?"

"Better, yes, thank you." He was. . .just the simple act of cooking seemed to calm something in his raw nerves. Already he began to see why Sam felt so much at home in the kitchen.

"Good, good. I have brought something that I thought you might enjoy." Unfastening the latch on his pack, Faramir slid out several more receipt-books and an assortment of rolled and folded pages. "Here are some more cookery-books and menus. I thought you might enjoy them more than the library would, and the inns and eateries where I obtained these always have a copy to spare for one so important as the Ringbearer."

Frodo blushed, but he could hardly contain his delight. "Faramir, it's - it's wonderful! Thank you!"

"What's all the fuss about?" Merry's voice, from the door. At the sight of the array spread across the table, he looked confused, but said no word, save to greet Faramir warmly. "I've got to go right back," he added, still eyeing the books and papers curiously, "but I wanted to come back home and make certain everything was all right."

"Quite all right, Merry; we're fine. Thank you," Frodo reassured him.

"Then I'll see you this evening for supper." With that, Merry turned on his heel and left, bidding a swift farewell to each of the three on his way out.

Frodo could hardly have cared less whether Merry understood about the cookery-books and menus. He felt so eager to have them, and Sam seemed to understand. . . . "Oh, chicken in the style of the hunter's wife - that sounds interesting - "

"It is very interesting. It was Boromir's favorite. I believe that you would like it. The vegetables would do you good, and chicken is healthful for one recovering from serious illness."

Frodo nodded sadly, thinking of Boromir's laughing face, his solid arms. It hadn't always been as it had at the end between them. . .and had not the Ring taken even him in the very end? How, then, could he blame Boromir?

"This place seems to do a lot with pork chops - The Bird and Baby, they call it? Pork chops with mushroom-tomato sauce. . .pork chops with rosemary and apples. . .pork chops with fennel and white wine. . . ."

"Pork chops with cabbage," Sam added helpfully, reading alongside Frodo.

"Yes. It is an excellent place to visit; when you are feeling strong enough, we must take you there. The owner will be absolutely delighted; he was overjoyed when I came to ask him for a menu."

"Creamy baked stuffed mushrooms!" cried Frodo, spotting another item on the menu.

Faramir laughed. "I thought that you might like that." He rose. "I must return to the Citadel. But I did wish to bring those to you myself."

"Thank you. . .thank you so much. . . " If Frodo could have seen his own face, he would have realized that his blue eyes fairly shone. As Sam showed Faramir back to the door, he delved into the pile of menus as one diving into the Sea, prepared to drown and happy to do so.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

"Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, sir, wake up."

Frodo turned sleepily in bed, yawning as Sam eased a tray over his lap. "Sam. . .this isn't right. You shouldn't be waiting on me."

"And just why not, sir?" Spreading out a crisp white napkin, Sam smiled. "I've got your favourite first breakfast this morning - toast and butter and marmalade, and o'course fresh milk. Now, Master Merry, he'll be making your second breakfast, seeing as how I've got to run down to market with Captain Faramir. That's what I wanted to talk to you about - with your leave, sir."

"It's all right if you go, Sam." Frodo nodded vaguely, sitting up and spreading butter on a piece of toast.

"Well, Captain Faramir, he says as how they have the nicest fish here in the city, fresh as can be and light as a feather. He thinks it would do you some good, and I was wondering - if I got some, do you think you could try and eat a bite? Fixed in a blanket, or with mushroom sauce, or proper fish and chips, whichever way you want it."

Frodo considered for a moment. "Yes - yes, I think I could try that. Fix it whatever way you think best, Sam, though I especially think I would like it with mushroom sauce."

"Then I'll see what I can do about that, sir." Sam smiled warmly. "You eat up now, Mr. Frodo. I'll be back from market as soon's I can, with some nice fresh fish and vegetables for you."

"I don't suppose you can find any cherries to go on top of teacakes? That would be nice. Or berries to make a tart. I'd like to do some baking this afternoon." Frodo yawned drowsily, spreading lime marmalade carefully across the slice of toast he held.

"Of course, sir. I'll see what I can do." Sam rose. "I'll be back soon, master. Eat up for Master Merry, now." And with that, he patted his master's feet and left,

Frodo finished his toast, munching slowly, elaborately spreading butter and marmalade over each bite, following mouthfuls with small sips of the sweet milk.

He was safe. And he would never go hungry or thirsty again. The others would see to that.

Then why did he feel so hollow inside?

"It's the strangest thing," explained Sam as he wandered through the market with Faramir, studying stalls filled with goods and inspecting fresh produce and fish with a critical eye. "He just don't seem right to me, but - beggin' pardon, sir - at the same time, it - what he does - it don't seem to make sense to Master Merry and Master Pippin, but - it does to *me*, and I don't rightly know why that is. Like - he was right pleased with them men-yous you brought, and the cookery-books too, but they don't seem to understand that that's almost like medicine to him. I do; I'd about as soon hear him read from 'em as anything. 'Course I can read, too," the gardener added proudly, "only I'm usually so busy, and poor Mr. Frodo don't need to be on his feet too much yet, so I don't let him."

Faramir nodded understandingly, steering Sam into a quiet pub which appeared to have few enough customers at this hour. Those who were there greeted Faramir warmly, and he in return did likewise.

"Sam, I am sorry to tell you that these things are common in those who have been starved, as the two of you have been," he explained gently, as he called for the attendant and pointed Sam in the direction of a scrawled menu on a board beside the door. "Choose anything you like; this place has some of the best fish in town. We may safely continue talking here; 'tis mostly my men, and they will be discreet."

Sam ordered the fish and chips, delighted to see such a thing even in Gondor, with all its elegant food, and a mug of beer. Faramir, to his astonishment, specially requested a basketful of fried mushrooms for "Master Gamgee" and placed an order to match.

"Then how can we help him?" asked Sam anxiously as they awaited their food. "If it can't be helped, then surely there's something we can do for it?"

Faramir's countenance was grave. "We in Gondor have had little success, I fear. I can tell you what has been best for us, but I fear it never restores full health, and even less so in a hobbit. I will ask the King to consider the matter further and speak with you himself, for he has more skill in healing than all the healers of Gondor combined."

"All right, then." Sam eagerly speared a mushroom as the basket was placed upon the table and Faramir gestured for him to eat. "I'm listening."

"Allow Frodo his own way in such matters as will not harm him. If he is strong enough to cook, or to sit up and look at menus and cookery-books, then do nothing to hinder him. Those activities may help to calm him. In addition, you should give him his favourite foods - try him on new ones, for he may discover new favourites here in Minas Tirith, but - do not neglect those he has loved in the past. If he has ever cared for creamed soups, small sandwiches, baked custards, omelettes, toast. . .now is the time for those. Soothing foods, to comfort and reassure him, and hot drinks, to help him rest. Not only hot tea, but warm milk with honey, and if he likes the hot chocolate that we have here, he may enjoy that as well."

"Oh, he loves all that. I reckon he's as fond of mushrooms on toast for supper and jammy toast or toast with marmalade for first breakfast as he is anything, and I ain't never seen him say no to creamy mushroom soup, not even when he's been so sick he could barely hold his head up." Sam smiled triumphantly. "Leastways not my creamy mushroom soup."

"Excellent. Making certain that he has plenty to eat will be as medicine for both of you, I think." Faramir smiled. "I do not worry so much about you; a cook has to constantly taste and test. And Merry and Pippin have returned more to their natural way of eating. But I see in Frodo evidence that he may never regain that balance. . .and so he may require special care for the rest of his life." Clear grey eyes met Sam's face. "Are you prepared for that, Sam?"

"Aye, sir, I am." Sam lifted his chin proudly. "I said I'd carry him up that Mountain, if it broke my back and heart. And I meant it, too."

He speared another mushroom.

"This here's just one more mountain, that's all."


	10. Chapter 10

"Frodo, may I come in?"

Frodo looked up from his writing-desk with a start. Faramir stood waiting at the door, his face brightened by a merry smile.

"Well, *you* look as if you're happy. Come in and tell me what it is!" Closing his book, Frodo motioned the steward inside, settling back in his cushioned chair. At this, Faramir took on an expression of slight chagrin, but came inside anyhow.

"How is your cook-book coming?"

Frodo shook his head, scowling. "It isn't. My hand gets cramped writing, and Aragorn says I should not practise for so long at a time. But I do not see how I am to finish it otherwise."

"I see." Faramir nodded gravely. "How would you feel were I to assign you a scribe?"

"A scribe?" Frodo blinked. He had never had anyone assigned to him before. At home, Sam had assisted him with things, but never writing, and that - well, that simply felt different. All the same, if it would help finish the book. . . .

Eagerly he nodded.

"Please. . .I should like that." A horrible thought suddenly entered his mind, and swiftly he added, "So long as it will not be someone interested in gawking. I do not wish to be stared at, or gossiped about after hours."

"I understand *completely.*" Nodding, Faramir smiled. "I have in mind a most excellent fellow, someone who attended my father and myself personally. Therefore, he has had much experience in keeping confidence, and in conducting himself as a young man of honour. I think you will find his behaviour suitable. If you do not, I would not, of course, expect you to continue working with him."

"Then my answer is yes." Frodo rubbed his fingers. "I should welcome the respite."

"How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Truthfully?"

"Truthfully." Faramir's grey eyes, filled with concern, met Frodo's blue ones.

"Well, honestly, I am not sure." Frodo sighed. "I get so hungry, and - nothing seems so good as looking at a menu or a cook-book, or cooking something when I am not too tired. I still do not feel quite *myself* again, if you take my meaning."

"Indeed I do." Rising, Faramir brushed Frodo's shoulder gently with one large hand. "Keep doing what you are doing, Frodo. I cannot tell you that you will ever feel at peace, but I can assure you that at least you will not want for amusement or nourishment, so long as your friends are near."

And with that, he made his farewell and departed, slipping into the corridor like a spring wind rustling away.


	11. Chapter 11

"Is all this food for us?"

Queen Arwen smiled gently in response to Sam's awed query. "Yes, Samwise. Aragorn and I wished to have a little feast in your honor. . .to spend time with you, for we so seldom get to see you these days." Gesturing to their seats, she motioned for them to sit. "Aragorn will join us momentarily. In the meantime - please, eat."

Dishes filled with marinated mushrooms and olives stood before them. Frodo blushed; was it that obvious how fond he was of them? But there was no critique in Arwen's sincere gaze, so shyly he began to eat, and Sam followed suit, each trying a few polite bites, and more as Arwen coaxed them.

"Please pardon my tardiness." Aragorn hurried to join them, motioning for them to remain seated even as they made to rise. "Remind me to get a gag for one of the lords from Dol Amroth - where were we, friends?"

Frodo could not help smiling, but his smile broadened as the main course was carried out and placed before them: a rich pasta dish with mushrooms and a strange green-coloured sauce, delicious and smooth on his tongue.

"This is wonderful. What do they call it?"

"Mushroom pesto lasagne," explained Arwen. "The pesto is the sauce; the lasagne is the pasta. The mushrooms I am sure I need not explain."

Everyone laughed, and Frodo's heart felt lighter than it had in many weeks.

The dishes continued to march out: something called chicken marsala, a chicken in wine dish with mushrooms; carrots, also in marsala wine; the delicious herby bread called rosemary focaccia and olive oil for dipping it in; mushroom salad. . . . By the time they reached the fresh fruit course, Frodo was feeling quite relaxed, and to judge from the look of Sam, he felt the same.

"It is so nice to feel full," murmured Frodo after a long moment between bites.

There was a long pause.

"As you often did not during the Quest."

Aragorn's voice. A statement, not a question. Frodo looked up at him guiltily, half-startled, but there was no accusation in his eyes. Frodo shook his head.

"No. I - we - I mean - we are used to having enough to eat, and - while we can get used to lean rations for travelling, it - toward the end - "

He swallowed nervously. Beside him he could feel Sam tense.

"There wasn't enough, even with what Faramir gave us. I wouldn't have cared about eating, only about water, except Sam made me eat, and I know he shorted himself and went without for my sake."

"What you needed weren't lembas," Sam cut in anxiously, "just a good pot o'tater soup, or some creamed mushrooms over toast, or somethin' like that."

Tears welled in Frodo's eyes as he nodded. "The elves' bread is a good thing," he explained, "but - it isn't - hobbit food, as you might say."

Quietly Arwen rose and walked around the table on soft slippered feet. Gingerly she took a seat on the bench beside Frodo and put her arm around him.

"Of course it is not," she murmured tenderly. "We can do nothing to ease the suffering you endured, tithen min. But we will ensure that neither of you ever have to starve again."


	12. Chapter 12

"Mr. Frodo, it's past noon, sir."

"Please, Sam, I don't care." Frodo turned his face to the pillow, and Sam instantly began to fret: his master looked as if he were feeling utterly miserable. A gentle brown hand laid on the pale forehead explained much: Frodo felt feverish to the touch. Irritably he tried to pull away, but Sam put a hand upon his shoulders, swift and soothing.

"There now, master! Why don't you let me bring you something proper to eat, and we'll see whether that don't help you feel a sight better."

"Don't feel like it," mumbled Frodo, but his eyes followed Sam hungrily, interest kindled by the mention of the word ieat/i.

"Just lie still while I fetch you a cool cloth, and then I'll see to a proper luncheon for you. If you want elevenses while I'm making up lunch, I could bring in some muffins, or toast a bit o'bread - "

Frodo shook his head. "No, thank you. I'd rather just wait until luncheon. I'm afraid if I don't, I shan't be able to eat it at all."

"Are you sure, sir? You need to eat up," coaxed Sam anxiously as he wrung out a cloth in the washbasin, laying it gently over Frodo's brow.

Again the dark curls bobbed. "No. Can't."

"Very well, then, sir." With a soft sigh, Sam trotted back out into the kitchen, setting to work at once on a suitable luncheon-tray.

Creamed mushrooms on toast, Mr. Frodo would eat those. He'd about always eat those, even when he was feeling right poorly. And Sam had put some cream of asparagus soup on, hoping his master could eat that. . .well, wouldn't that be just the thing to go down nice and easy, with some toast sippets besides? And some smashed potatoes and carrots to get something hot and filling and nourishing down him as well. Something sweet? A baked custard, o'course, with one o'them fresh peaches sliced up on top of it.

Yes, that was what Mr. Frodo needed. Sam set to work at once, gathering ingredients and climbing up to stir. It would be all right. It had to.

"Mr. Frodo, sir?"

Frodo turned in bed, blinking sleepily, to find Sam carrying a tray into his room. "Sam, please, I said I wasn't - "

"Beg pardon, sir, but this is one time I didn't figure I ought to listen to you." Setting the tray carefully over the bed, the gardener smiled proudly. "See whether any of that suits you; if it don't, I'll take it back and fix what you fancy."

Frodo examined the contents, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Creamed mushrooms? Sam - "

"Just you eat up while that's hot, Mr. Frodo. If you need a bit of help, just say the word." Quietly Sam set to straightening up the room a bit, laying aside Frodo's discarded cool cloth and propping his master firmly in bed before turning his attention to the bedside-table. Frodo set to work on the creamed mushrooms first, alternating mouthfuls of the favoured treat with spoonfuls of the creamy soup. He felt tired, but blast if he was going to ask for help.

It took some time, but at last Frodo finished, Sam working unobtrusively close by throughout the meal and nodding with approval when he finally retrieved the tray.

"Now, that's enough eaten to do you a sight of good. Just let me take this back to the kitchen, and I've an idea that might suit you fair well."

Curiously Frodo waited while Sam disappeared with the tray, returning only to gather up Frodo's collection of menus and books, laying them in a basket on the chair by Frodo's bed.

"There now, sir! All ready for you to read as you like! I thought you might get some pleasure out of browsing them this afternoon - I can read to you if you'd rather, but I know you like to read to yourself mostly."

Frodo nodded with delight. "A splendid idea - I think I could manage that! Let me try reading to myself for a while; if I tire, I shall call upon you, but I think it will be all right."

But by the time Sam looked in upon him a bit later, he was fast asleep, a cookbook open on his chest. Gingerly Sam placed one of the tasseled markers given them by Faramir between the pages, closed the book, and set it with the others, then eased his master back and tucked him in more securely.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Frodo," he whispered, "and don't you dream of being hungry ever again."


	13. Chapter 13

"Are you sure this will help?" whispered Pippin nervously. "I mean, they wouldn't let us lift a finger to come in and do anything for them, and they've been in there an awfully long time. . . ."

"Patience, Pippin." Gandalf smiled. "I think this is precisely what Frodo and Sam need right now. So sit back and enjoy the dinner your hosts have so thoughtfully prepared for you! No doubt it will be absolutely delicious, if I know hobbits."

Just then Frodo put his head in at the door, beaming from ear to ear. "Dinner," he announced proudly, "will be served momentarily."

Faramir and Eowyn exchanged a delighted, warm glance; Arwen slipped her hand gently into Aragorn's. The rest of the Fellowship watched curiously as Sam and Frodo began to carry out dishes - well, mostly Sam carrying, Frodo explaining each dish.

"The appetizers we have chosen, stuffed mushrooms and nutty stuffed eggs, are Shire favourites. They are very popular throughout the Shire, anywhere one might go, and are suitable for any occasion."

Everyone tried the treats and agreed that they were most delicious.

"The next course," Frodo continued when the had finished, "is a velvet chicken soup - one of my personal favorites and Sam's specialty. If any of you were lost as to what I kept wanting not long after I woke up, this would be it. Sam's velvet chicken soup is the envy of every cook this side of Bree, and probably past, as is his freshly baked bread, which you will find in baskets on the table, accompanied by sweet butter for your enjoyment."

Sam flushed pink as he served up the pale, creamy soup.

After the wonderful soup, the main course and side dishes were served, neatly plated, and Frodo began to explain these as well.

"We thought you might like to try roast chicken with stuffing and bread sauce. And of course there's nothing to go with it like roast potatoes and glazed carrots, with some fresh peas on the side. Please, eat up - Sam and I spent rather a long time shelling peas!"

Everyone laughed, but no one left a full plate.

Frodo beamed proudly as Sam produced not one, but three beautiful desserts. "Here we have a blackcurrant and mint crumble - that would be my creation, for those who are interested! - as well as marbled rose cream and a raspberry rose roulade. The latter two are popular at upscale affairs in the Shire and Buckland, though you might see them most often in the region where Pippin is from. I have often enjoyed them at Great Smials, his home."

Pippin pinked, but couldn't help smiling a little, pride shining in his bright eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this will conclude our meal, which I hope you have enjoyed as much as Sam and I enjoyed preparing it for you." Frodo hesitated, and it seemed for a moment that tears shimmered unshed in his blue eyes. "Thank you. You are each dear to us, and this is not an evening we shall soon forget."

It was Eowyn who rose, and went to his side, embracing him.

"Nor shall we, dear one," she murmured. "Nor shall we."


	14. Chapter 14

"You *will* have a copy made for Eomer, then?"

Aragorn nodded gravely. "Of course. You have my word, Frodo. I will order our finest scribe to personally attend the matter, and Arwen shall oversee it herself. When it is completed, we shall present it as a a gift to Rohan from the Ringbearer himself."

Frodo flushed. "I didn't mean that - only - I wanted to - well, I suppose I would like to leave something of hobbits behind in the South, for I know not when nor indeed whether our kind shall pass this way again. It gives me peace to think that something of Sam's thoughts and my own shall stay behind."

"They shall, my dear friend. That I assure you." Embracing Frodo warmly, Aragorn accepted the book to cradle in his arms. "It is a wonderful gesture, and it shall be treasured in Gondor for many generations to come."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you."

"He seems a little better."

"The improvement is largely temporary, I fear." Aragorn sighed. He and Gandalf rode together in Theoden's funeral procession, some distance from the hobbits, who were just out of earshot. "It rises and falls like the tide in his spirit."

"What, then, is to become of the two of them?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Sam I do not fear for. He fares very well. . .most likely he will return to his old self within even a few more months of care. But Frodo. . ."

He hesitated, watching the slender hobbit.

"It is likely that Frodo will carry the scars of this torment forever, in more ways than we can fathom. . .and this way may always be one of the most visible. Among his own people, though, he will be well tended, for have you ever known a hobbit to allow anyone to go hungry? His own folk will not understand why this troubles him so, but they will not allow him to suffer thus without solace. At home, Sam and the others will, I have no doubt, see that his needs are met."

"They will." Gandalf sighed deeply. "I only wish that they had never had to know such loss."

"Aye." Aragorn nodded. "It is a grievous cruelty of war when little ones - even little ones who are not children - must know such suffering."

He paused in conversation.

"All we can do now is hope for the best. . .and do all that we can for them while they are in our care."


	15. Chapter 15

Frodo looked about his room. It was spacious enough - too large, if anything; he was hardly used to such large quarters. But Eowyn and Eomer had insisted that he and Sam must have the finest rooms, and only Aragorn and Arwen had such a large chamber as theirs were.

But something was missing.

Water.

Frodo stiffened as the thought struck him. Never, in all the places he had stayed since his rescue, had they left him without a pitcher of cool, clean water for drinking ready at hand. Perhaps this was not the custom in Rohan; all the same, it disconcerted him endlessly.

There came a soft knock at his door, and a familiar, sweet voice.

"Frodo? May I enter?"

Lady Eowyn.

"By all means, my lady." Blushing at having had any thoughts of criticism, he rose from his seat upon the soft bed and waited. In she came, studying him curiously.

"Is the room to your liking? I made sure it was the very best. But I know little of how hobbits like things, save that you have a penchant for mushrooms, and unfortunately I could not make things round in design, nor build into the earth."

"It is - quite all right, my lady."

She motioned for him to sit, and sat upon the bed as well. "Now, Frodo, I know better than that. I can hear in your voice that something is amiss. Will you not tell me what is the matter?"

Frodo hesitated. . .but at last he began to spill out his heart, explaining that there was no water, and how he longed to have it close by, and at once her face opened with understanding.

"Of course that is unacceptable!" she exclaimed at last. "Let me but have a few words with someone, and then you may come to *my* chambers until all has been remedied. We shall fetch Sam, and the two of you shall come with me until matters are much improved."

Frodo watched with curiousity as she went into the hall and apparently spoke with someone, returning shortly with a broad smile.

"Come now, let us fetch Sam."

In Eowyn's chambers, she showed them two comfortable chairs, inviting them to sit. And - wonder of wonders - she presented to them a tray bearing hot and cold food and drink!

"You shall have water and fresh fruit in your own chambers when you return. But I thought you might wish for something in the meantime, and I had already set the cooks to work on this. See, there is wild mushroom and potato soup, chicken and mushroom pie, gingerbread, and fresh applesauce. And there is plenty to drink - water and wine."

Delighted, Frodo set to work on some soup, pleased when Sam followed his example. "Thank you, Lady."

"Eowyn, please, Frodo. Just Eowyn will do." She smiled warmly. "We shall have no formalities between friends."

Nodding, Frodo continued to eat.

She understood.

Formalities or not, she *understood*.


	16. Chapter 16

Cold.

So cold.

Frodo awoke feeling chilled and feverish, trembling, his limbs aching. He longed for something to warm him, something to make him feel better. . .but he did not feel well enough for fresh fruit, or even to get up to fetch a drink of water. . . . Vaguely he wondered what time it might be. It could be hours before he was missed. . .but light already shone into the room, so surely someone would come to look for him soon. . . .

"Mr. Frodo, sir?"

The light knock at the door reassured him that someone had, indeed, come in search of him. "Come in, Sam, please."

His companion entered, alarm promptly registering on his face as soon as he discovered Frodo's state. "Mr. Frodo, you're not well, sir, and no mistake! Let me get you a sup of water, and then I'll go and fetch the Lady. She'll know what to do."

Frodo felt too weak to protest. He allowed Sam to raise his head and touch a tumbler of cool, sweet water to his lips. It soothed his dry throat, though he was glad to lie back against the pillow.

"Now, just you rest here, sir, and we'll be right back."

Closing his eyes, Frodo nodded faintly.

And waited.

Soon enough, he heard footsteps, and a gentle hand brushed his brow, feeling his forehead. A soft exclamation followed.

"Frodo! Tell me how you are feeling; I will do my best to ease you, if I can. Sam, if you would fetch us some fresh cloths and a basin of water - just a touch on the warm side, if you please."

Frodo opened his eyes, looking up at Eowyn, who bent over him with concern, smoothing back his curls. "I'm so cold. And I ache all over."

"Have you any difficulty breathing?"

He shook his head.

She looked relieved. "Good. Is there any place that especially hurts?"

Again he shook his head. Talking seemed to consume too much effort.

"It may be simply a light fever such as is common during our summers. We shall soon have you feeling better. But until the fever has gone, you must remain abed."

Nothing could have sounded better at the moment. Frodo lay quietly as Sam returned with water and cloths, presenting them to Eowyn, who wrung out a cloth in the water and began to bathe Frodo's face.

"Do you think you could eat a little something good? Something warm and nourishing and not too heavy on your tummy?"

Frodo answered with a weak nod. "Maybe."

She smiled. "Good. Then try and sleep. I shall wake you when it is ready."

Letting his eyes slide shut, Frodo snuggled against her touch and slipped into a peaceful slumber. The last thing of which he felt aware was her stroking his back gently.

"Frodo."

A delicious aroma wafted past Frodo's nose, and he blinked his eyes open sleepily to find Eowyn at his shoulder, calling gently to him.

"Do you think you can take some soup now? I think that you will enjoy the taste, and it will help make you more comfortable."

Nodding, Frodo pushed himself up in bed, allowing her to help by propping him on pillows.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

The bowl of appealing tan-grey soup that sat before him looked *most* intriguing, and smelled even better than it looked. Eowyn smiled proudly.

"Mushroom soup with chicken and sage," she explained. "How does that sound?"

It could not have sounded better, and as Eowyn spooned it up for him, Frodo had the thought that being ill might not be the worst thing in the world. Not when one had a soft bed and a lovely lady and warm mushroom soup for comfort.


	17. Chapter 17

"Is everyone ready?"

Frodo nodded as he checked the stirrups on Strider, his pony. He could not bear to admit that he was sorry to leave Rohan. Eowyn had been kind to them, and he still felt tired from his recent illness. Pippin's cheery chatter was almost more than he could bear at this early hour; he was no longer so early a riser as he once had been.

"Wait."

Turning, Frodo found Eowyn catching up to their gathering-party, something in her hand - a small bundle, wrapped in cloth and tied up with bright blue ribbon. This she held out to him, drawing him aside.

"A gift. Consider it a parting-gift."

Frodo blushed.

"Go ahead, open it." She beamed.

Obediently he began to work the bow with careful fingers, unwrapping the gift to reveal a book. He folded back the cover carefully to reveal hand-writing:

"From Eowyn of Rohan

To Frodo of the Shire

May peace find you."

"It's beautiful," he managed softly at last.

"It is a receipt-book. It belonged to my mother."

"Then you should keep it for yourself - "

"Nay, little one." Eowyn bent to reassure him. "I have plenty of resources at my disposal. This may bring you comfort some cold winter's night, and what better use for it than that?"

Suddenly she knelt, bringing her face to his height, her clear eyes intense as she looked into his gaze.

"We are both of us changed irrevocably," she whispered, "and I know not that it is all for the better. But, for better or for worse, we are changed, and we must live as we are. Go now, Frodo Baggins, and live! Whether your journey take you no farther than your homeland, or to roads I shall never see, go and live, and find a measure of happiness."

And she embraced him.

It was not until they were some distance away that Frodo saw his last glimpse of the White Lady fade from view. . .and even then, he thought he saw her waving, from afar, for some while to come.

That night his dreams were sweet.

-the end-


End file.
